


Until

by ferventrabbit



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferventrabbit/pseuds/ferventrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is desperate for an end. Hannibal will fight him every step of the way.</p><p>In response to akuma_river's prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akuma_river](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akuma_river/gifts).



He tried a couple of things, all unsuccessful. A day after they arrived at the safehouse Will waited until Hannibal left the room, then limped over to grab a knife from the kitchen and locked himself in the bathroom. The knife pierced the skin at his wrist as wood shattered around him, and Hannibal leaped through the hole in the door where he’d kicked it and wrestled the knife from Will’s hands.

Later, Will noticed that all the cooking utensils had been removed from the kitchen, presumably hidden away. He went on a search and came across a bottle of ibuprofen. Not his preference, but beggars can’t be choosers. He swallowed twenty pills and curled up on the bed, waiting for the slow drift. When Hannibal returned from chopping wood Will was almost there, could feel inexorable pull. Then he was scooped up and deposited on the bathroom floor with Hannibal’s fingers down his throat, retching until there was nothing left. Tears from the exertion trickled down his chin and under the collar of his shirt.

The next day Hannibal went on a run into town for supplies and took Will with him. As they sped down the country road Will tried to open the door and throw himself from the passenger side, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. He launched against it and tore the stitches in his shoulder open. Hannibal pulled over and held him against the seat and Will screamed in frustration until his throat was raw. They drove back to the house, supplies forgotten.

After that Will kept to the bed, getting up to pee and sweep the room for sharp objects. His nightmares rolled over him and left him weak. Sometimes he woke to find Hannibal hovering over him, his face blank. Mostly Hannibal watched him from the corner of his eye, or overtop the pages of Tattle Crime or from a chair by the window. Will suffered the attention and waited.

 

It had been a week since the knife incident, and Will was weighing his options. He had thrown them off a cliff and it had failed spectacularly – if anything, Hannibal seemed rejuvenated, as if a cliff dive was just the thing to clear bad humors. But Hannibal wasn’t part of this new equation. Will couldn’t parse his motivation for not trying to kill him, not even wanting to attempt it. He was solely concerned with this _other_ one, this creature that slept under his own skin. He huddled under sheets soaked with sweat and ticked off the methods he hadn’t tried, realizing that most of the obvious ones weren’t available to him. He didn’t have a gun, didn’t know where Hannibal kept one if he did. He thought of tying his sheets into a rope and hanging himself in the closet, but Hannibal never left him alone for more than a minute at a time. He knew Hannibal treated his wounds, probably injected him with antibiotics and miscellaneous narcotics that might prove useful, but infuriatingly Will was always asleep when he did it. He tried to stay awake, made it for almost forty-three hours once, but the sound of pattering raindrops against the windows lulled him softly into darkness. He ripped off the new bandages each time and tried to claw at his stitches, but Hannibal held his hands down on the bed, silent as Will struggled against him.

Will found himself retreating to his memory palace, killing himself again and again in every room, only to wake up and find the sheets knotted around his ankles, t-shirt sticking to his skin. He tried to drown himself in the river, but Abigail grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to the shore, beating his chest in fury.

“What are you trying to do, besides the obvious?” she demanded.

“I can’t let it live,” he explained. He lay flat on the rocky beach and stared up at a perfectly blue sky.

“He’ll never let you do it,” Abigail said. “And I won’t help you either.”

“One day, one moment, I’ll find myself alone. It might be days from now or years, but I’ll be patient. And when neither of you are looking I’ll put an end to it.”

Abigail’s eyes flashed and suddenly her hands were around Will’s neck, rage spilling from her fingers. It was then that Will smiled. When she tore her hands away Abigail gaped at him as he convulsed with mirthless laughter.

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

“I figured it out,” Will said. A sense of calm and purpose washed over him. “I’ll have him do it.”

 

It was a cold night – the sun was setting earlier and earlier. Hannibal was stoking the fire diligently, crumpling Freddie Lounds’ article about their escape to feed the flames. Will watched him from his nest of blankets and pillows, arms wrapped around his knees. Hannibal’s shadow stretched over the wall in dark swaths. Will considered the occasions when Hannibal had tried to kill him before and wondered if the horror of it would dissipate now that he was willing, wanted it. How would Hannibal do it? He might just strangle him, since he’d taken the time to hide all the knives. He’d need something expeditious. Maybe he would just plunge a fist into Will’s chest and tear his still-beating heart from its cavity. Will closed his eyes and let himself visualize it.

“Will,” Hannibal said. Will balked at the sound of his name. “Come closer to the fire.”

“No,” he answered. He felt himself tense but tried to relax. No resistance.

“You can come closer or I can carry you.”

“I’m not going anywhere near you. You disgust me.”

Nonplussed, Hannibal rose and approached Will in an arc, careful of his personal space. Will tilted his chin up and summoned his desperation.

“Everything about you is repellent to me. You are an animal. You need to be put down.”

“Will,” Hannibal whispered, warning.

“I can’t believe you ever thought I could want you.”

In an instant Hannibal was on him, his hand around Will’s throat as he held him up against the wall. Will gasped for breath and fought the growing panic, trying to settle into it. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a glimpse of Abigail by the river, felt a twinge of regret at her sadness. She would understand in time.

“Is this your strategy? What do you want from me?”

Will tried to talk but couldn’t, so he shook his head and brought his hands up to circle the one closed around his throat. He pressed down, tightening Hannibal’s hold.

“ _No_ ,” Hannibal growled, and he crushed Will’s mouth in a kiss that took the last of Will’s breath from his body, sent his head swimming as his eyes rolled back in his head. Now he did fight, his hands shoving against Hannibal’s chest and his legs kicking out. Hannibal kept the hand at his throat and grabbed a fistful of Will’s hair with the other, yanking his head back so that it knocked against the wall. He let go of Will’s mouth and bit the flesh under Will’s chin, air rushing in and out of his nostrils.

Will grunted, throwing his whole weight against Hannibal so that they landed on the floor in a painful clump. Hannibal flipped them over and pressed Will into the floor.

“Did you think you could provoke me enough to do it for you?” Will yelled in response and bucked up, trying to get the upper hand. Hannibal was crushing him with his body, holding his hands above his head in a punishing grip. Hannibal brought his lips to Will’s ear and followed when Will twisted his head away. By now Will’s chest was heaving in an effort to breathe, his muscles quaking as the blood rushed to his head. He made a half-hearted attempt to unseat Hannibal, and when it failed he tried to regain control of his breathing, rethink his strategy, try again. But then Hannibal’s lips parted and his breath huffed against Will’s ear, and Hannibal’s voice trembled when he said “ _I love you_.”

Will’s felt the despair boil up and rip through him in wrenching sobs. His whole body was wracked with it, and for a moment he thought its intensity might be the thing that finally killed him.

Hannibal’s hands cupped his face. He pressed soft kisses to his forehead, his temple, down to his cheeks, to the side of his mouth. The bright taste of salt slid onto Will’s tongue. His tears clung to Hannibal’s lips.

“Hannibal,” he gasped, and brought his hands up to find purchase in Hannibal’s hair. “I can’t let it. I can’t.”

Hannibal kissed him again, and Will heard his voice in the movement of his lips. _I love you. Let me help you._

Will felt his mouth open of its own accord, and Hannibal’s tongue swept in and tasted him. Will’s furrowed brow softened as he closed his eyes, and part of him was screaming to get up and finish it, slam Hannibal’s head into the floor and find the needle, find the knife.

His body was saying _become_.

He wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck and sucked the other man’s bottom lip between his teeth, heard Hannibal moan and felt himself shiver. Hannibal shifted his hips and Will threw his head back. Every nerve in his body was fired, alive.

“Please, Will,” Hannibal said. He drove his hips down and Will felt the length of him. He had never seen Hannibal like this, had never heard him beg for anything. Will raised his head until their foreheads rested together, swallowed Hannibal’s panting breath.

“I can’t let it, Hannibal. I can’t let it live.”

“It is part of you. You rescue stray dogs, you buy fishing lures for a lonely girl. It is not divorced from the other shades of you.” Hannibal’s fingers trailed down his cheek, parting his lips on their path before they settled above his heart. Will remembered the earlier image of Hannibal reaching in and tearing it from him. _Same difference,_ he thought. He felt completely bare, completely open.

“You love me,” he said in wonder.

“Yes.”

It didn’t take long before Hannibal resumed his movement against him, grabbed Will’s hip as they kissed and Will moaned and breathed his name, his orgasm slicing through him, almost painful. Hannibal followed, murmuring against his skin.

When Hannibal rose to soak a cloth in warm water Will let his limbs fall heavy against the floor. He felt the terrible thing within him stir, then nestle back down along the curve of his spine, against tendon and bone. Will was its parent and child, its god and its priest. He breathed deep and felt it melt further, knew that eventually it would be indistinguishable. He would let Hannibal hold him together until the time came.

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't sure about the title, feel free to suggest alternatives!


End file.
